


(ask me again) tomorrow morning

by paskuda



Category: The Binding - Bridget Collins
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Domestic, Entirely Self-Indulgent, I Wrote This While Listening to Mother Mother, Kid Fic, M/M, POV First Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, kind of, mainly fluff, some smut?, why is that a tag and why does it fit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paskuda/pseuds/paskuda
Summary: "Well then," he says. "Let's go."We do. This is everything that happens after.(AKA I imagined Emmett with a baby and wrote a fic for the first time since 2017)(Please read notes for more detailed warnings!)
Relationships: Lucian Darnay/Emmett Farmer
Kudos: 2





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: slight homophobia (not as much as in the book though); canon compliant, brief, non-graphic mentions of violence, death, and child neglect; not so brief, slightly more graphic descriptions of (consensual) sex; a lot of creative liberties regarding the handling of children and also time periods because I accidentally imagined them wearing sweaters and couldn't help myself. :^)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can be read as a standalone if you're just really desperate for a real ending :-)

LUCIAN

“Well then. Let’s go.” He says, and grabs me - by the wrist, careful not to touch the tender burns - pulling me up to my legs. We run and run and run until our legs are about to give out. It’s dark and I can barely make out the shape of a barn Emmett’s leading me to. We spend the night on the hayloft, lodged between the wall and some hay bales. Seeing them wakes a memory and it stings in my entire body. I get dizzy again but Emmett holds me close and while it does make the memories flare up stronger at first, eventually they settle and I can finally stare at him all I want. He really is beautiful, even when he’s tired and there’s soot in his face and he hasn’t shaved. We fall asleep wrapped in each other and I don’t think I’ve slept that well since a certain summer night in my uncle’s house.   
Emmett wakes me just before dawn; even though no one should be able to see us, it’s still best to scramble before the owner of the barn finds us. We keep walking until we reach a small town. The tailor looks at me with greedy eyes when I sell my suit to him for way less than it’s worth, even after being in a fire and tumbling in a barn, and Emmett helps me pick out practical, warm clothes. I pawn off the watch and cufflinks too and feel a bit better, even though we really have to lay low now that there’s such an obvious trace of where we’ve been.   
It isn’t until late that evening when we’ve cuddled up in another barn in the middle of nowhere that I remember to ask Emmett about what he said. He’s almost asleep already but blinks at me sweetly when I run my fingers down his face.   
“Did you?” I blurt out. “Did you mean it when you said…?”   
He freezes for a second and then laughs quietly, then looks away.   
“Do you want me to have meant it?” He asks finally. He’s trying to look smug, but there’s so much earnestness and fear underneath it that it makes my breath catch. I feel my cheeks flush.   
“Maybe.” I mutter into his neck, because I’m a coward.   
Silent minutes pass. I keep watching him, barely able to make out the shape of his profile, the incredible length of his eyelashes and the strong line of his nose in the dark. He’s not looking at me, but he’s awake too; I can see when he blinks.   
“I did.” He says. I’m confused for a second but then warmth spreads through me like a wildfire.   
He turns to look at me and there’s that fear in his eyes again, the way he looked at me in the bindery a few days ago and the way he looked at me when we were kissing in the ruins. I grin, unable to keep him uncertain any longer. He huffs out a relieved little laugh, but keeps looking at me with that raw honesty. I tangle my fingers in his hair and bring his face down to mine. His eyes flutter shut as I kiss him as gently as I can muster. 


	2. two

EMMETT

I thought we were gonna kill each other after a few months on the run. We were both tired, hungry, dirty, and so terribly disillusioned at that point. After Lucian regained consciousness we ran and ran and didn’t look back. He sold his fancy suit and watch and cufflinks as soon as we found someone willing to buy it all and then we kept running. The arguments started after a few weeks; I wanted to stay in one of the small towns we happened upon and try to settle down, make some money, _rest_ \- but he wanted to keep running. I was tired of looking over my shoulder and having to stretch the little money we got picking up odd jobs as thinly as possibly. At some point we were so upset with each other we both just turned and went our own separate ways, but neither of us dared leave the city. I found him two days later in a dirty pub, getting drunk off of the cheapest liquor they had on the menu. “How d’you keep doing that?” He had slurred as I carried him back to where I had rented a room. “Finding me when I try as hard as possible to get away from you?” I kissed him on the nose then and hoped it was too dark for anyone to see. “You have to stop being so damn predictable.” I think I answered, and then I strictly forbade him from drinking. He was pissed off at first, even more paranoid than before; but after a while he calmed down and reasoning with him became easier than ever. We didn’t split again after that - still haven’t.  
Almost a year after Lucian’s book burned we circled back to the area around Castleford. We were trudging through some town close enough for Castleford news to still be relevant, pretending as best as we could that we were just guys being pals, travelling together, when Lucian suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. It was cold, winter was just around the corner, and I turned to huff at him to hurry up. He was staring at some guy reading a newspaper and was so still I think he even stopped breathing. I squinted to make out the words on the front page and froze too. I remember them clearly to this day; “ **PIERS DARNAY DEAD - HEIR STILL MISSING** ”. I saw Lucian blink and turn to me, and then he smiled, a huge, honest, face-splitting grin. That’s when everything changed. We didn’t really worry about the “heir still missing”-part; no one could have recognised him, anyway. He had let his grow longer, wore a simple man’s clothes, and lost that stupid posh accent somewhere by the seaside, but the biggest change came from how he carried himself now - he didn’t think that he was better than anyone anymore. It only made me love him more. We rented a room with two beds and left one untouched. I got a job at a bindery a few streets away; the owner wasn’t as honest as I’d have liked, but honest enough, and we couldn’t really afford being picky. Lucian charmed himself into becoming an apprentice at the local apothecary shop and proved himself useful by doing all of their accounting. We stayed in that town for a few months and when winter finally turned to spring, we bought a horse and a small cart and made our way to Seredith’s bindery. 

LUCIAN

The bindery wasn’t a pretty sight when we got there that spring. The roof over the stable had caved in and several windows were smashed. There was mildew everywhere and mice had started living in the parlor. A lot of furniture was so rotten and molded it had to be thrown away, and even though Emmett was obviously upset by it, I felt a bit relieved - it felt a lot better to start over fresh rather than keep it and live in some sort of weird museum dedicated to the memory of Seredith. Someone had ransacked the house during the time it was empty and stole all the mead, but the workshop was untouched; old prejudices do come in handy sometimes. Emmett sagged with relief when he saw it. We did not speak about the vault and it’s lack of contents.   
We spent that entire spring fixing the house up, changing windows, whitewashing the exterior, re-thatching the roof. We also started a little garden so we wouldn’t have to spend so much money on food. Everywhere we went to buy supplies, we would whisper conspiringly to the shopkeepers about how the binder had returned to the marshes, but oh, please, don’t tell anyone. That’s the best way to get people to talk; act as if you don’t want them to. We had barely ridden the house of the smell of mildew before the first ones started appearing, wanting to be bound. They knew that the binder in the marshes would keep their books safe and apparently that was worth travelling surprising distances for. I _was_ surprised for a moment, until I remembered that was exactly what I did, too. One day, Emmett came home from the town with a basket full of chickens, a cat, and two goats. I named all of them even though Emmett rolled his eyes at me, muttering about how it was stupid to get attached. As if I would have ever let him slaughter _my_ chickens. I named the cat William which I was very happy with, except it’s a bit long so it turned into “Willy”. Emmett laughed at me and started calling it “Dick” instead. Obviously I punched him for it, but lightly. On the arm. Old age started making me affectionate.   
Jokes aside, we did get more affectionate now that we didn’t have to hide. I was giddy all the time - it was like nothing had changed since that summer when it all started. The first time I called him “darling” he moaned - fucking _moaned_ , I tell you. To be fair I _did_ also have his cock in my hand, but still. A week later he came back from town with a ring for me - just a sturdy silver band with a smoky purple stone (he said it reminded him of my eyes, what a twat, right?) - and then we snogged all night, it felt like.   
I feel happier and safer than I ever have, but every now and then there are nightmares, for both of us. Nell’s legs hanging a foot off the ground; someone knocking on the door and me opening it only to see my father; saying yes to marrying Honour Ormonde. For Emmett it’s usually not managing to pull me out of the fire at Lord Latworthy’s library, or his parents saying all those horrible things to him. He told me about it, once, when it was too warm to sleep and I held him in my arms all night. I couldn’t believe it; after all, what difference did it really make, which one of their children ended up marrying me? I promised myself to spit in Robert Farmer’s face next time I saw him and hugged Emmett a little tighter.  
We avoided running into Emmett’s family for a surprising amount of time, but of course, one day he came home pale as a ghost. “I ran into Alta”, he had said. I asked if she had said anything mean, but he shook his head. “She… cried. With joy. Said she had heard the rumors about the binder being back, but didn’t dare think it was me. She seemed... relieved to see me”. Right. We had forgotten all about the whole thing with de Havilland’s bindery burning with Emmett’s things still in it, but neither of us had assumed that the Farmers would be wondering where he went. Alta invited herself over a few days later and it might have been the most awkward half hour I had ever spent. But then she cracked and started crying, telling us how sorry she was for telling on us that summer and how much time she spent worrying about Emmett. We both apologized too, because we’re gentlemen, and because we also acted like arseholes by lying to her like that. In retrospect, it feels really mean; she was just a teenage girl, she would have eaten our tragic, forbidden love story right up if we had just told her. Emmett forgave her - he said she couldn’t possibly have known it would have ended how it did - so of course I had to forgive her, too. Both their handkerchiefs were completely soaked by the time she left that day; must run in the family. But she kept visiting and it wasn’t awkward anymore. Or, well, not _as_ awkward. Then one day she came over with a ring on her finger and then we _really_ talked and then it was all truly forgiven. Emmett asked her not to tell their parents but she must have slipped up, because after a while Mrs Farmer started sending jars of pickles and loaves of bread along when Alta came to visit us. Alta also taught me to mend clothes and knit; Emmett says I look like an old lady when I sit there by the fire, trying to knit socks for him. I say he smells like an old man, so we match. He does - he has started smoking a pipe on the porch sometimes. I still haven’t decided if it’s attractive or not, but I’m not a huge fan of the smell - reminds me of men my father would invite home, that stared creepily at my sisters.   
Speaking of my sisters - it turns out my father never disowned me. I guess he didn’t have time before he died; he was probably waiting for me to come home penniless and worn out so he could use it against me for the rest of my life. I find out when I open the door to Cecily standing on our porch one day. There’s a carriage behind her, with a bored-looking coachman.  
“Lucian.” She says coolly, but I can tell she’s nervous.   
“Cecily.” I answer warily, not as self conscious of my simple clothes as she probably would like me to be. She stares at me expectantly for a while and when I make my gaze as blank as possible in return, she sighs.  
“It’s time to come home.” She says pointily. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.   
“I am home.” I say. She grimaces. I wonder what kind of bet she lost to have to be the one to come out here and talk to me.   
“You are papa’s heir and the factories can’t be left without supervision anymore.” She says in what I think is supposed to be a pleading tone.   
I very eloquently tell her to go to hell and do whatever she wants with the factories but to never bother me with them again. She sighs again as if she was expecting it - maybe she isn’t as daft as she always seemed, after all - and waves to the coachman on the carriage. He jumps out and brings a folder and a fountain pen to her. She passes me the pen and points to where I can sign on a document filled with legal jargon. I ignore the pen and take the document, reading it thoroughly. **I, LUCIAN DARNAY, GIVE UP MY RIGHT TO…** stares up at me.  
“If I sign this, will you promise to never talk to me again?” I ask, taking the pen. She rolls her eyes and nods. I put my signature on the dotted line; I’m out of practice but still do my best to make it look as similar as possible to the ones on every other document I’ve ever signed, just so they don’t have any reason to ever bother me again. She nods again, turns around, gets into the carriage, and just like that, I’m free. 


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains unhealthy amounts of sappiness and also smut! Be warned!

EMMETT

Yes, I enjoy watching the love of my life sleep whenever I wake up before him. Yes, I wake up before him the majority of the time. What about it?  
I never thought I would find a lad beautiful, but here I am. He looks older now than he did when I first fell in love with him - of course, it’s been a couple years now - but looking at him up close like this still makes me feel butterflies in my stomach. His hair is long and falls into his face. Somehow it hasn’t gotten bleached by the sun, like mine always does; it’s still black as a raven’s wings. He doesn’t get freckles, either, but he has a cute little mole under his eye that I like to kiss. He has thin, dark eyebrows and I like to kiss the furrow between them whenever he’s worried about something. His nose is thin and a bit pointy and I like to kiss the tip of it. His lips are always a little pink and incredibly soft and I like to kiss the corners. Maybe I just like to kiss him in general.  
He’s staring back at me now. His eyes are a wondrous colour; a kind of dark grey, not brown like I first thought, and in some light it looks almost purple. I wink. He blushes.

LUCIAN

I just caught Emmett staring at me while I slept and what does the fucker do? Wink at me. Absolutely shameless. Nonetheless, I feel a bit hot under his gaze. I know he finds me attractive but he’s watching me so closely, it’s hard not to get self conscious. I glance at his lips and pretend I didn’t mean to. He licks them. He has nice lips - kind of thin and kind of pale, but when I bite them they get all red and gorgeous. He also has a nice nose, completely straight and not big, but not small either. It’s dusted with fading freckles, as is the rest of his face. Which is also very nice to look at, just in general; he looks like the human embodiment of sunshine, with his warm hazel eyes that remind me of the mead he gave me a drink of all those years ago. He has crazy long eyelashes too, because of course he does, and pretty thick eyebrows, darker than his hair. They are surprisingly tidy for someone who doesn’t even bother shaving properly most of the time. His stubble is another thing I have a love-hate relationship with. He tried growing a mustache once, but I refused to kiss him until he shaved it off and he gave up after like three days. It did feel nice on my skin in… other places, though.  
I realize I zoned out a bit and focus on his eyes again. He’s still staring at me. He’s been rubbing little circles into my back for a while now. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. The room smells of clean cotton, with a hint of lavender coming from the dresser. I never thought I could be so happy living such a simple life; cool, fresh air of the countryside instead of the smog of the city, comfortably coarse cotton instead of slippery silk for the bedsheets, dried wildflowers in the underwear drawers instead of expensive laundry soaps, bread and eggs for breakfast instead of fancy dishes whose names I've forgotten. And of course Emmett, instead of some girl I wouldn’t have been able to make myself care about if I tried. I curl a little closer into him and he draws in his breath quickly- oh. It’s that kind of morning, then? I smirk as I bury my face into his chest and push his shoulder so he lays flat on his back. I throw my leg over his thighs and drag my hand down his torso to rest on his hip. He’s already arching his back under my touch, it’s endearing. I’m just about to slip my hand into his underwear when the cat jumps up on his chest and curls up into a ball, purring loudly. We both freeze.  
“Oh.” I say. “That reminds me, I have chickens to feed.” I jump up from the bed and grab trousers and a sweater, turning away so Emmett doesn’t see me laughing at his disbelief as I leave the room. “Wretched beast”, I hear him mutter at the cat.  
It’s a bit mean to leave him like that, but Emmett is a lot more predictable than he likes to think he is. I know that if I let him stew in his misery for a few hours, we’ll both enjoy ourselves a lot more later tonight. The day passes as usual; Emmett shuts himself in the workshop for most of the day, either finishing a book after a binding or just making blank notebooks to sell in the city. He’s really good at it; sometimes traders come here and leave a lot poorer than they arrived because the quality is just too good to pass on. Emmett says that he just does what Seredith taught him, but there’s more to it than that; he’s a natural.  
Emmett is weirdly good at a lot of things; bookbinding, cooking, fishing, taking care of animals, hunting, growing produce. And fucking. I remember thinking about how he must have been a whore after that time when we were looking for my book, because no one fucks like that unless they do it a lot. I feel my cheeks getting hot thinking about it. I remember now that we didn’t even do it that much; there were only that many times we could fool around hidden in hay bales and ruins. He’s just naturally good at it. It always makes my head swim a little, to think about how I was his first - everything. First kiss, first fuck, first love. I wish he was my first everything too, but then again he kind of is; he’s the first one that actually meant something.  
I feed the chickens and pet the goats and bake a loaf of bread. After thinking about it for a second, I make honeycakes, too. After weeks of bugging Alta finally gave me the recipe and while the first few attempts weren’t too good, Emmett says that I make them almost as good as she does nowadays. The little “almost” doesn’t stop him from trying to eat them as soon as they come out of the oven and burning his mouth on them every damn time. And then whining about it for days. Of course.  
After dinner, when Emmett sneaks back into the workshop for a moment to finish something up, I go outside to sit on the porch for a while. The sun is setting and the sky is on fire with pinks and purples. It’s one of the first warmish days of the year; still cold, but warm enough for me to not have to wear a coat over my sweater. The snow melted a lot today so the marshes just look like one big green-grey puddle; I’ve come to appreciate the view. It’s peaceful. I look around the yard, trying to see if there’s something else that needs to be done sooner rather than later. Every now and then, Emmett says something about how he’s sorry I have to do so much of the work around the house while he just sits in the workshop. He shoves his face into the crook of my neck and whines about it for a while. I let him do it for a few minutes and then remind him that it’s the money we get from his binding that lets us live here at all, and that I prefer doing jobs around the house over having to do accounting - it was worth the pay, of course, but between that and cuddling with my goats, obviously I’m gonna pick the goats; I mean, who wouldn’t? Besides, he does help me when I don’t know how to do something or can’t do it alone. He just likes to forget it. That’s just Emmett, I guess; he’ll spend his whole time making me feel comfortable and loved and then just… forget about it? I don’t know.  
Either way, I actually kind of enjoy being his… housewife, so to speak. Of course I wouldn’t admit it, he’d bully me to death; but I do enjoy watching his eyes light up when the stew I make (with an animal he poached or fished up) turned out really good, or when he smells honeycakes when he comes out of the workshop. It makes me feel warm inside when he sighs with relief upon seeing that the floors are already scrubbed after he has spent the whole day breaking his back over the bookpress. It’s not like I can even imagine having the house be anything other than clean and tidy - I feel like Seredith’s ghost would beat me to death with a broom if I tried going more than a few days without cleaning. I even enjoy mending Emmett’s socks, for fuck’s sake. And I sure as hell don’t complain when he fucks me like he’s trying to knock me up. One time I joked about how I should start wearing a skirt and apron and the fucker got so hard so fast I thought he was gonna faint. I won’t do it, obviously, even if the thought of him bending me over the table and lifting up my skirt to fuck me does weird things to my insides. I think this is the kind of thing that should make a man feel a bit emasculated, but it doesn’t bother me at all.  
I am brutally ripped from my daydreams when Emmett suddenly puts all his weight on me in a so-called “hug”. He’s taller and broader than me, which feels unfair considering how much time I spend working outside and he spends hunched over books. He’s also stronger than me and thinking about how he can literally carry me over his shoulder always makes my head swim. Well, it’s about time he shows up, I’ve been waiting all day, goddamnit. I turn around to face him.  
“Let’s go inside, hm?” He says quietly as he noses at my neck. I shiver, and it’s not from the cold. He tugs me inside and locks the door behind us, and then leads me upstairs to our bedroom and closes the door there too.  
“If that damn cat comes in here again I’ll make a rug out of it,” I hear him mutter under his breath.  
“You wouldn’t dare.” I say as he pushes me onto the bed and crawls on top of me.  
“Oh yes, I would,” he says, and kisses me before I can reply.  
That’s another one of those things that he’s weirdly good at - kissing. I never really got the whole thing with kissing, until I kissed Emmett - and then I just couldn’t seem to stop. Or at least, I didn’t want to stop. We neck like two horny teens for a bit, and then he pulls away and just looks at me with dark eyes. He’s a little too far away to kiss comfortably and I’m just about to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing, when I figure it out myself. I have half a thought to be stubborn and not give in, but where’s the fun in that? So I tangle my fingers in his hair and bring his head down to kiss me. Then, when he least expects it, I pull him back by his hair and push myself up on my elbows to bite his neck. He gasps. I smile against his skin. Even after years of being together, I still find ways to surprise him.  
The look he gives me when I pull back almost makes me melt. I let him tug off my sweater and trousers and start unbuttoning his shirt, helping him shrug out of it. For a moment he just lays on top of me, chest to chest, kissing my neck, until I buck my hips against his. His breath catches and I yank on his hair lightly to get his attention.  
“Let’s switch,” I murmur. He worms his arm under me and lifts me up, turning us around. I’m straddling his legs and he already looks fucked out. I move my hips and hear him gasp once more. I slide down a bit and unbutton his trousers, getting pushed again up as he bends his legs to yank them off. We’re both just in our drawers now and I feel his arousal pushing into my ass. I grind down on his cock and drink up the sounds he makes. He looks so beautiful like this, all flushed and dazed. I slide off his underwear and he tugs off mine. He moves up a little to lean against the headboard so that we can kiss again without losing contact elsewhere and we spend a moment just like that, kissing and grinding against each other. I pull back.  
“You or me?” I ask. He shrugs.  
“You choose.” He smiles. I melt a little.  
It’s honestly amazing, knowing he trusts me to take care of him like this. I think I actually prefer when he fucks me, instead of the other way around; I didn’t think I would, because it was always me on top with everyone else. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I’ve never trusted anyone else as much as I trust Emmett.  
I think about it for a second - he’s putty right now, but if I work him up enough he can make me see stars. I dig in the bedside table drawer for a moment and find the little jar of oil we put there a long time ago. I pour out a little onto his fingers; not too much, I like it better when there’s still a little bit of friction left. I shiver with pleasure as he presses his fingers into me; he starts with two, always does nowadays, because he knows I can take it.  
“You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” He mumbles into my ear. My heart - and my cock - swells at the pet name.  
It doesn’t take long before I’m stretched to the point we both like the most and Emmett removes his fingers. I take a second to look at him; his mouth is slightly open and his eyes almost closed. I greatly enjoy watching them widen suddenly as I take his entire length at once. He moans and starts thrusting up into me. Momentarily I’m dizzy with pleasure and it takes all my focus to just stay upright and not collapse onto him. It’s like a switch is flipped - he can be completely gone but as soon as I start wavering, he’s focused and precise. He fuck up into me easily, as if it doesn’t take any energy at all. I gasp and catch his mouth in mine, kissing him as hard as I can.  
The biggest advantage of regularly sleeping with someone for a long time is that eventually, they know exactly what to do to drive you crazy; and that’s precisely what Emmett does. He wraps his long fingers around my cock and strokes me in time with his thrusts. He suckles on my neck, just below my jawbone, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me. He fucks into me even harder - I didn’t even know that was possible - and his cock grazes something inside of me that does, in fact, make me see stars. I gasp into his hair and spill over his hand, clenching hard around him. He loses all rhythm and then I have to focus on not falling onto him again as he shudders and moans breathlessly into my shoulder. Then we’re both still and I can finally collapse into his arms. He presses a kiss into my sweaty hair.  
“I love you,” we both say almost simultaneously and each breathe out a laugh. I feel so happy I could burst.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: descriptions of lethal violence

Lucian tells me about his dreams a lot. Usually they’re just about something silly, like him dreaming that one of the goats was eating breakfast at the table with us, but sometimes they’re more than that. There’s one that reoccurs a lot - the one where he kills his father.  
He still doesn’t talk a whole lot about his father, or his family in general, but from what I gather they’re not a very nice bunch. And it feels a little too much like I am the first person who’s ever loved him unconditionally.  
The dream usually starts with his father sneering at him and saying something stupid in that smooth voice of his. Smooth like a silk tie someone’s choking you with; deadly. Lucian says that that’s the moment he always snaps - I guess it’s because he always wanted to, whenever he was in that situation. It does seem an awful lot easier, to just attack the fucker instead of trying to come up with something to say that he won’t use against you later.  
He kills him in many different ways. I didn’t even know he knew that many different ways to kill someone. Chokes him with his own belt; stabs him in the neck with the letter opener; bashes his head in with the carafe, spilling whiskey everywhere. He never quite succeeds, though; he always wakes up just as he's struggling the most, never really getting the satisfaction of standing over his father’s corpse. It doesn’t feel as pressing now that the man’s actually dead, but I think not actually having seen his corpse drives Lucian mental sometimes.  
I have to admit that I’m a bit scared too; I’m terrified of waking up one day to find Lucian missing or dead, with Acre standing over my head, saying that it was all just a plot to get us to come out of hiding. I wouldn’t put it above them. Then he kills Lucian’s damned cat and then we are forced to forget each other again. I think the fever would actually kill me this time around.  
Lucian told me that his sister had come here a few months ago with some paper for him to sign to give up the rights to inherit anything, and I don’t think she would have done that if Darnay Senior was still alive. It would be a lot more effective to just publicly disown his son for sodomy, shaming him for the rest of his life. Lucian bought that newspaper that day and apparently he had died suddenly, some accident at one of the factories. Or maybe one of the maids finally got the guts to poison his tea. Lucian said that his father most likely didn’t believe he could live without the luxuries of the aristocratic life so long; he thought that Lucian would get tired of the rebellion of loving me and come back with his tail between his legs sooner or later. And then he went and died before we could prove him wrong.  
He’s always ashamed of himself, when he has those dreams. I tell him not to be; I tell him that I would kill his father too, if I got the chance. I’d shoot his brains out before he could even look at Lucian. Anyone with half a brain would. But he still shakes so violently when he wakes up, and it pains me that I can’t do anything to ease his hurt other than hold him and kiss away his tears.  
Quite often, I catch myself wondering if he misses his old life. He always says that he doesn’t when I ask, but how can you truly, genuinely prefer stinky goats and eggs and bread over… whatever rich people do and eat? I guess I find it so hard to wrap my head around because I still see money as the solution to most problems. I’m slowly starting to realize that it’s not worth it, though; if Lucian’s life is anything to go by, money just seems to attract terrible people. And it’s not like we’re unhappy, anyway; I don’t exactly feel like I’m missing out on anything. Lucian looks happier and healthier than ever. Thinking back on how he looked that day when my book burned, it’s like a completely different person is in my arms right now. I don’t think it’s all thanks to not having a sadistic bastard breathing down his neck anymore, even if it certainly helps.  
I look down on his face. It’s like he can feel it, because he scrunches his nose almost instantly. It’s nearly time to get up, but the morning is chilly and he is warm. I kiss his hair and hold him a little closer. The cat jumps up on the bed with a soft noise and starts kneading the quilt covering Lucian’s legs. He has nice legs. Long. With a lot of funny little moles on the insides of his thighs. He sighs against me and buries his face in my chest. His hair tickles my arm and it makes me smile into the crown of his head.  
“Whaddaya laughin at, Farmer?” He asks blearily. He’s always so grumpy in the mornings, it’s adorable.  
“Oh nothing, just thinking about how much I love you.” I reply, partially because it’s true, and partially because he always squirms when I’m so direct with my feelings. It’s fun to catch him off guard like this. Just as I predicted, I feel him still against me.  
“Oh.” He says softly. “I love you too.”  
Not one of those days when he smacks me and pretends he doesn’t hear me, then. I kiss his hair again and feel him just barely press a kiss to my collarbone in response. I sigh dramatically.  
“I really wish we could stay like this all day, but I think your goats miss you.” I say, and try to untangle myself from his grasp. He groans in protest.  
“‘S cold.” He whines.  
“If you’re cold, imagine how freezing your poor chickens must be.” I say, with as much accusation in my voice as I can muster and get up to get dressed. I leave the bigger sweater for Lucian; he always seems a little happier when he’s drowning in his clothes, I don’t know why.  
“At least they have each other to cuddle up to. I’m being left alone to freeze to death.” He grumbles, pulling the duvet up so only his eyes are visible.  
I laugh. “Come on, I’ll get the fire started. You want honey in your tea?”  
He perks up a little at that.

Later, when he’s glaring at me from above his bread, hair still mussed up from sleep, sweaters-sleeves covering his hands all the way up to his fingers, I can’t help smiling at him.  
“Lucian, if we got married,” I start, and laugh internally when his eyes widen, “which name would we take?”  
He chews for a moment, looking up into the ceiling as he thinks. “Not Darnay, that’s for sure.” He says finally.  
“But your father would probably lose his mind if you passed his name to me,” He adds after a moment of silence.  
I smirk.  
“So which one would it be, Farnay or Darmer?”  
He catches himself off guard this time with how hard he laughs.


	5. five

There’s a fucking baby on our porch.   
It’s barely light out, it’s still fucking freezing, I only opened the door because I thought one of the goats got out of their pen and was crying for help outside the door. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s my goats, and this sure as hell isn’t one of them.   
“Emmett!” I yell as loudly as I dare. “Is this yours?!”   
“Huh?” He comes up behind me and freezes when he sees the basket on the porch.   
We stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do, and then the baby starts wailing.   
“Shit, it’s cold, we should take it inside!” Emmett scrambles. We do. So now we have a wailing baby _inside_ the house, and still don’t know what to do.   
Emmett leans over and touches its cheek; whoever left it there bundled it up real good, the little face is pretty much the only thing not swaddled in blankets.   
“It’s not very cold, I don’t think it was out there too long.” He says over the crying.   
“What do we do now? We’re not a daycare! When are its parents coming to pick it up?” I ask. The noise is starting to get on my nerves.   
Emmett is about to lean down again, probably to pick the poor thing up, but stops to stare at me.   
“People don’t leave babies they care about on people’s porches, Lucian.” He says. “They’re not coming back.”   
I watch silently as he picks the baby up and coos at it. It starts calming down almost immediately. Something falls to the floor - I bend to pick it up. It’s a small note. I fold it open, hoping for some sort of explanation, but find only “ **MABEL. DATE OF BIRTH...”** and a date from about a year and a half ago hastily scribbled onto the paper. Emmett looks at me questioningly and I turn the note to him. He furrows his brow upon reading its contents, but then turns to the baby he’s still rocking in his arms and coos:  
“Are you a little Mabie-baby?” His voice sounds a bit silly like this, unnaturally high, but the baby seems to like it and gurgles happily. Emmett smiles at it - her? - and it makes something inside of me shift weirdly.   
“So… what do we do about her?” I ask again. “We can’t keep her?” I mean to state it, but it comes out more like a question.   
Emmett looks at me.   
“Why not? He asks.   
I look at him like he’s stupid, but he doesn’t relent.   
“I don’t know about you, but this is the first and probably only time that someone’s pawning their child off on me.” He says and the baby makes a noise like it agrees. “We’re not bad people, Lucian, she could have ended up somewhere much worse than here and you know it.”  
I stammer, struggling to come up with something to say.  
“Besides,” he continues, “don’t you think it would be kind of nice to have a baby running around?”  
“I’ve never thought about it”, I say, and it’s true. The only thought I ever had concerning babies in my past life was worrying about how I was supposed to manage to knock my future wife up while having only a barely-erotic painting there to arouse me.   
I look at Emmett - I don’t remember looking away - and find him already staring at me intently.   
“You have though, haven’t you?” I hear myself saying. “Having a whole little army of children with some cute girl to help with the farm chores?”   
He frowns at me. “No- what? Or, I mean, I guess, but that was when I was maybe, twelve? Just… barely forming an idea of what the distant future would look like, you know.”   
I snort and look away. “Sorry for robbing you of that.”   
He sighs. “Lucian, stop. It’s not like that. I haven’t thought about it at all since then- not since I met you.”   
I want to keep sulking but the slick fucker always knows exactly what to say to make me want to just snog him right up. Can’t do that now, though - I’ve been replaced with a slobbering baby.   
“I don’t know anything about babies.” I mutter under my breath.   
“You don’t?” Emmett asks, surprised. “How? For all you know about how to make them, I’d think you’d know a thing or two about how to care for them, too.”   
Whoop. There it is. I roll my eyes at him.   
“I never even did it with gi- nevermind. Laugh at me all you want, it’s not at all like both _my_ sisters are older than me and every other child in the family was raised by nannies.” I sneer at him. “How the hell do _you_ know what to do, anyway?”   
He shrugs. “When your friends get siblings and their ma has better things to do than watch a newborn, you have to learn quickly.”  
“That’s not a newborn.” I observe very intelligently, as if I didn’t show him the note myself.   
“No,” he agrees. “That only works in our favour though, it’s easier to take care of kids the older they get. Requires less… special equipment.”  
Breasts, he means. Which neither of us has. Or, I mean, Emmett has a lot of muscles on his chest, but I don’t think babies like that. _I_ like that, and I’m not a baby. Well, I’m Emmett’s baby. Wait, what was he saying?  
The child starts fussing again and Emmett looks a bit lost.   
“Maybe she’s warm?” I try. Emmett starts removing the outermost layers of blankets.  
“Can you give a baby hypothermia by removing its blankets too quickly?” He asks me after the second one with a hint of panic in his voice.   
“How the hell would I know?” I answer usefully, but feel relieved when he leaves them be for now.   
We sit in silence for a bit, neither of us knowing what to say or do.   
“Should we take her to the doctor?” I ask, suddenly remembering that we don’t know how long she actually spent outside.  
Emmett looks at me for a moment and then nods. 

  
We almost get the horse ready immediately, but then reason hits and we decide to eat breakfast and come up with a plan first. We go as soon as it’s light out and pick up Alta along the way. Emmett throws gravel at her window and they speak in hushed whispers for a while, then she climbs out the window into Emmett’s arms. They bicker all the wack back to our cart and suddenly it’s hard to believe it’s been years since that winter when Alta fell through the ice. As soon as she sees the baby, who is now sleeping in her basket, Alta coos loudly and Emmett and I both cast worried glances towards their parents’ house. It’s not hard to tell that Alta has fallen head over heels in love with her already.   
“Oh, now I can’t wait to have my own,” she sighs dreamily.   
“Maybe marry your guy first?” Emmett snorts.   
Alta grumps. “Why? You two didn’t get married before getting a baby out of nowhere,” she says with a triumphant smile which quickly fades when we both dangle our rings in her face.   
We’re just about to stop in front of the doctor’s house when Alta yelps.   
“We can’t go to the doctor in the village!”   
“Why not?” Emmett and I both turn to her.   
“Because he knows Ma and Pa and he'll tell them all about your illegitimate child!” She hisses.  
So we have to go to one of the other towns, which means a few more hours of travel than we had planned. Alta doesn’t seem to mind, though, filling the silence with excited babbling about how cute the baby is and what her wedding to Henry, her “guy” as Emmett so eloquently put it, is gonna be like. I don’t really care, but I can tell Emmett is a little upset he hasn’t had any say when it comes to her choice of future husband. Guess he only has himself to blame; that’s what you get when you (unintentionally) seduce your sister’s best prospect. I’m done trying to take responsibility for his actions when it’s his stupid baby fever that got us in this particular mess in the first place.   
I’m not sure how Alta caught on yet, but she stares expectantly at Emmett when we arrive at the clinic. He stares right back at her.   
“Go on, then,” She says. “I’ll wait with the carriage, right?”   
Emmett laughs.  
And that’s how Alta and I end up sitting on an uncomfortable sofa in an even more uncomfortable doctor’s office, pretending to be a completely normal married couple, concerned for our baby.   
“Well, then, what seems to be the issue?” The doctor asks after we exchange basic pleasantries.  
Alta and I exchange a panicked look; we should have rehearsed this more thoroughly.   
“She has been…” Alta starts, pushing her heel into my foot under the table.   
“Coughing”, I supply, like the genius I am. “It’s been a bit chilly these past few days, hasn’t it? Well, we’ve been outside a lot, fixing our fence, and, you know, you gotta keep the baby close to make sure nothing happens to it, and we think she might have caught a cold.” That’s as close to the truth as I can get, I think.   
The doctor looks at us. I pick at the hem of the hat I’m holding in my lap.   
“Well, then, let’s take a look.” He says, and none of us move.   
“The baby?” He prompts, turning to Alta. “Can you show me the baby?”  
Alta shoots up from her seat and picks up the baby awkwardly. She passes the entire bundle, blankets and all, to the doctor.  
“Well, then, hmm, how old did you say she was?” He asks, watching us carefully above the rim of his glasses.   
“She’s a year and a half old sir, born just before the Summer Solstice the year before last.” I say and immediately curse myself internally. I can’t for the life of me remember if it was just before or just after the solstice, so I just keep quiet and hope it doesn’t matter too much.   
The doctor has just finished unwrapping the last of the blankets and she is left wearing only a little cream-coloured baby outfit.  
“Well, then, hmm, she’s a little small for her age, it seems. Have you been feeding her regularly?” He turns to Alta, casting a quick glance at her bosom, which she couldn’t trick anyone into believing to be swollen with milk.   
She laughs nervously. “Oh, you know how it is, sometimes she’s hungry and sometimes she isn’t. The winter’s been tough on all of us.”   
The doctor nods slowly.   
“Well, then, there doesn’t seem to be anything severely wrong with her. Keep bundling her up like this when you go outside but try to stay indoors until spring is in full bloom and she should be fine. Oh, and try to feed her a lot of fruit and vegetables now that she has most of her teeth.  
We thank the doctor and leave after awkwardly bundling the baby back up. It doesn’t look nearly as nice as it did when Emmett did it.  
“Well, then. Well, then. Well, then.” Alta mutters as soon as we’re out of earshot and I bite my cheek so hard to keep from bursting out laughing that it starts bleeding.   
“How’d it go?” Emmett asks as we get back to the carriage, smiling at our miserable faces.   
“Ugh. I am _so_ happy you’re the one who got stuck with Lucian. That was _insufferable_.” Alta groans.   
“I’m sorry I tried my best to keep him from realizing that it was all a bluff!” I reply, as loudly as I dare.  
“But your whole… act!” She turns to Emmett. “ _We took the baby out to fix our fence, she must have caught a cold_.” She says in a mocking voice. “Leave him at the damn opera when you swing by!”  
“Language.” He says coolly but I can tell the bastard’s trying very hard not to laugh. 

  
We do some baby shopping on the way back - as much as we can, that is, with the little space we have left in the cart; we get some clothes and a gentle soap, a little bowl with a bird painted in it and a little stuffed animal. Emmett wants to buy more, but I tell him this will do for now, until we figure out how to find her family and get them to pick her up. We drop Alta off a bit away from the village so no one sees her “conspiring” with us, as she put it, and head home. 

  
I’m knackered by the time we walk through the door and would mostly prefer to just fall face first into the settee and not get up until overmorrow, but there’s a lot to do. We have to unload the cart and feed the baby and wash the baby and change the baby and make dinner and do some chores around the house and this and that- And then, to top it all off, we hadn’t even un-bundled the baby properly before someone showed up for a binding. 


	6. six

I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly Mabel has been with us for three weeks and I’ve stopped protesting everytime Emmett comes home with a new trinket for her. We had to figure a lot of things out by trial and error, but she’s been very patient with us, only crying for as long as is really necessary. We bathe her in the kitchen sink - Emmett is scared stiff of accidentally drowning her in the tub. She slept with us in the bed for the first few days until Emmett found a crib that lived up to his standards; he said the ones in the village were too flimsy. I won’t lie - waking up in the mornings to see Emmett with the baby snoozing on his chest did that weird thing to my insides again. I imagine if I had ovaries, they’d be going crazy.   
Mabel perked up a lot after the first couple days of being with us - I guess whoever left her didn’t have the resources to feed her properly. Emmett told me about the first binding he witnessed as Seredith’s apprentice; a woman had buried her child in a dung heap and nearly went mad with guilt. Thinking that that could have happened to Mabel makes me shudder. I’m not quite ready to admit it to Emmett yet but I don’t think I want whoever left her to come back for her, either.   
We feed her oat porridge and whatever vegetables we have preserved since the last harvest and I think she’s doing fine so far. The doctor mentioned something about there being a risk of developmental delay because she doesn’t talk at all yet, so Emmett and I have taken to talking to ourselves around her all the time; it seems to come naturally to Emmett, but I still feel a bit silly. I had to learn to deal with it quickly, though; just because we apparently have a baby now doesn’t mean that the people coming to us for bindings have stopped, and I imagine it’s not very easy to do… whatever a binder does… with a baby in your arms. Alta has been coming over even more often and we figured out a way to sew a harness of sorts that I can carry Mabel in so I can have her with me when I do chores around the house. She is quite small after all, so it’s not too much extra work to carry her around, and she always seems to take the best naps when she’s close to one of us like that. Sometimes I take her outside in the basket and put her nearby so she can sleep or just watch me while I do more demanding things. The goats like to shove their faces in the basket - I guess it smells funny - and she shrieks with laughter when they do. I catch myself smiling at her antics more and more. I can’t really describe it, but it feels like a veil has been lifted from the house; it feels lighter and happier and sunnier. I tell myself that it’s because spring is almost here, but I’m not sure I really believe it.   
Right now we’re sitting on the floor in the parlor; Emmett’s busy finishing some notebooks that he’s meant to send away with the post tomorrow and I’m trying to teach Mabel to walk. She’s a little wobbly still and definitely seems to prefer crawling when she can, but Alta snuck out a magazine about babies from their parents’ house and it says that they’re supposed to walk pretty well by the time they’re 18 months old, so we have some catching up to do. There are wooden and knit toys strewn all around the room; there’s a designated box for them by the wall and it feels like all I do anymore is walk around picking up toys, but Mabel’s favourite pastime is to take them out and throw them around, babbling happily as she does, so it’s an endless cycle. The cat is watching us cautiously from the settee - they have a weird relationship, both are kind of scared of each other but also endlessly fascinated by each other. I am very strict with not letting her tug on his tail and not letting him nibble on her fingers and it’s working out fine so far. Mabel is using the settee to stand up, breathing heavily with excitement. She has one of the toys, a little grey cat that Alta crocheted, in her hand. She squeals at the cat when she sees him and he looks like he’s about to bolt. She carefully releases the toy next to him and starts flapping her arms. The action almost makes her fall over and I surprise both of us with how fast I put my hand on her back to steady her.  
“Oops. Careful.” I smile at her. She looks at me with wonder in her eyes.   
“Willy!” She says, pointing at the cat.   
Oh. Oh!   
“Well, aren’t you a little genius?” I ask, picking her up. “Come on, we gotta tell Emmett about this.”   
We knock on the door, because we’re polite like that, and also because Emmett gets  _ very _ lost in all his endpapers and whatnot and I don’t want him to swing at us with a lettering iron.   
“Emmett, would you believe?” I start as soon as he turns to look at us. “Mabel just put the toy that looks like a cat next to the cat and said his name! Are they supposed to be so smart at her age? Should we tell someone that we have an absolute genius in our house?”   
Emmett freezes.   
“You mean to tell me. She just said her first word. And it was the damned cat's name?” He asks slowly, his stare blank.   
I twitch as I feel the damned cat slither between my legs.   
“Willy! Willy!!!” Mabel shouts excitedly and Emmett puts his face in his hands.   
After that, the words pour out of her like she can’t help it. Within the next two months or so after that, she has learned most words commonly used around the house and tells us loud and clear when she’s hungry or sleepy. She’s also finally learned to walk properly and does it faster and faster. Her new favourite thing is to run away from me or Emmett and make us chase her.   
She’s so focused on learning words that she seems not to notice other things; for example, a few days ago she was trying to run away from me because I was gonna make her put socks on and she was so busy shrieking with laughter that she didn’t notice the table until she had already slammed her head into it. I winced at the sound the impact made and prepared myself for hysterical wailing, but she just smacked her little hands over her head and went “Ow. Table.” as she got knocked to the floor. She was a lot more quiet than usual for the rest of the day, though. I kissed the little red spot on her head so many times she started pushing my face away in the end.   
“Come on, let daddy kiss it better!” I tried.   
“Not! Hurt!” She insisted, glaring at me. But she still held on tight to me all day. 

When we’re all in our beds later, Mabel already snoring softly in her crib, Emmett starts running his hands through my hair. I hum softly, too tired to really react properly.   
“Daddy, huh?” He mutters. I feel my cheeks heat up.   
“Well, she’s gotta call us something.” I mumble. He hums in agreement.   
“So if you wanna be daddy, what am I supposed to be?” He asks.   
“I don’t know, come up with something yourself.” I sound mean, so I wrap my arms around him a little more tightly. Emmett laughs softly and continues playing with my hair.   
“Do you think she’ll get confused?” I ask after a moment.   
“Don’t you think she will be, no matter what we have her call us?” He retorts, and then sighs. “I don’t think so? It’s not like she has anything to compare with.”   
I don’t have a counter to that.   
“Do you think anyone will come back for her?” I ask another moment later.   
I feel Emmett shake his head.   
“No. I told you, you don’t leave a baby on someone's porch if you care about it.”   
“They cared enough to give her a name.”   
Emmett sighs. “Desperation does weird things to people, Lucian.”  
Then neither of us has anything else to say, so we don’t. I’m almost asleep when I hear Emmett mutter:  
“I wouldn’t let them take her back, anyway.”   
I press my palm firmer into his back.   
Neither would I.   
The next day, Emmett fabricates a birth certificate. 


	7. seven

Alta promised that she wouldn’t tell Ma or Pa about the baby, but I guess she must have anyway, because when she comes to visit a few weeks later, Ma is with her.   
“She noticed the magazine was missing.” I hear Alta mutter to Lucian.  
Ma crosses the hallway and puts her hands on the sides of my face. I’m a lot taller than her but I feel very small when she looks into my eyes with all the love I remember from… before.  
“Emmett, darling… I’m so sorry.” She says wetly and brings my head down to her chest in a warm embrace. I let her.   
It’s a bit awkward, of course. I had pretty much made my peace with never talking to either of them again, and I’m not sure how to feel about Ma’s apology. I glance at her, where she is sitting next to Alta on the bench in our kitchen, eating her second piece of spiced cake.   
“Ah, Lucian, this is delightful! Who knew you’d be so good at baking.” She smiles at him. “I’m gonna have to send you some of my recipes.”   
He’s a little suspicious too, I can tell, but still too polite to show it. He does straighten a little at the complement, though, and I hold back a snort.   
Suddenly, the patter of little feet can be heard. Mabel woke up, I assume; she passed out on the settee after a particularly intense morning of chasing the goats.   
I hear her gasp and run to Alta, making grabby hands at her.   
“Auntie Tally!” She yells excitedly and plants a wet, open mouthed kiss on Alta’s cheeks as she picks her up. Suddenly, she notices Ma and freezes.   
“Who?” She asks, leaning her head and looking between me and Lucian. She just learned that word a few days ago and has been running around sounding like an owl all week.   
No one says anything, for a moment, until Ma smiles at her.   
“I’m your grandma, dear.” She says.   
Mabel looks very sceptical, which looks very funny on a child not even two years old. “What.” She demands flatly.  
“You know how you have your daddy and your pa?” Alta says, turning Mabel to face her. She nods after a second. “Everyone else had parents, too. This is mine and your pa’s mother.”   
“Oh.” Mabel says, not quite convinced. I suddenly realize that we forgot to explain the concept of parents and grandparents to her; it didn’t feel very relevant until, oh, about an hour ago.   
“We can talk about it later tonight, Mabie.” Lucian says. “Come on, d’you want some cake?”   
She nods excitedly and hops down from Alta’s lap and up into mine. I put my arms around her torso as Lucian picks up a piece of cake from his plate and lifts it up to her mouth. I feel Ma’s gaze on us.   
“So, how long have you… had her?” She asks.   
I wonder how much Alta told her.   
“Since just after the turning.” Lucian says as he feeds Mabel another piece of cake.  
Ma nods and hums.   
“And, um… which one of you…?” It takes me a second to understand what she’s asking, and I see Lucian freeze out of the corner of my eye right as I do.   
Alta is staring at the table in shock and the silence in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife; even Mabel is quiet as she stares intently at the piece of cake on the fork, frozen too far away for her to eat.   
“Neither of us.” I finally reply, a little more sharply than I meant to. “She was left in a basket on the porch.”   
“Oh.” Ma says and flushes, finally understanding the awkwardness of her question.   
There is silence again and it’s painful. I nudge Alta with my foot under the table and she jolts with an awkward laugh and starts blabbering about her wedding. Lucian and I “hmm” and “ah” and ask questions whenever appropriate. Ma is quiet, though, just looks at Mabel with a wistful look on her face.   
The big clock in the parlor rings out and Alta stands up, relief evident on her face.   
“This is all very nice, but it’s time for us to leave, isn’t it, ma?” She says hastily.   
I hear the unspoken “or Pa will ask questions”; it hangs heavily over the room. I pass Mabie to Lucian and we see them off into their carriage.   
“Well, that was awkward as fuck.” Alta mutters as she’s hugging me goodbye. Lucian is holding Mabel’s arm and making her wave at Ma, who’s already by the carriage. We wave them off and go back inside; it’s pretty much spring but the afternoons still get chilly.   
“Do you think she’s gonna visit more times, now that she knows she’s not yours by blood?” Lucian asks me quietly with a bitter note in his voice. I shrug.   
“I don’t know. I don’t really care.” It’s true. Besides, wherever Ma goes, Pa usually follows, and I don’t think I want to see him yet. Or maybe ever.   
I put my arm around him and pull them close, sandwiching Mabie between us. I kiss her forehead and she squirms. We stay like that for a moment until she starts fussing.   
I pull back and laugh as Lucian puts her down. It comes out a little wetter than I expected.   
“Where does she get all that energy from?” I ask, ignoring his questioning look to watch Mabel sprint to the parlor to get her toys. He tugs on my arm and pulls me close again.   
“We’ll be fine.” He says gently as he runs his hand across my back. “With or without them.”   
I let myself hope it’s true. 

LUCIAN 

A few weeks after Emmett’s Ma visits, it's time for the spring fair. Emmett’s been working tirelessly at making notebooks and sketchpads to sell for the past month or so. They’re always a big hit with the children; he makes them so pretty, with paintings of butterflies and flowers and birds and with gilded edges and letters. I think it’s his way of contributing to trying to make books less forbidden, but selling made up stories is still a little too much for this small town. It’s a nice, warm day, and Mabie’s very excited. She’s looking at everything like it’s the first she sees it, which I guess it may very well be. A butterfly lands on her arm and she shrieks with joy, running up to me to show me and scaring it off.   
The fair hasn’t quite started yet, but everyone who’s going to be selling something is here setting up their booths already. We’re finished setting up the booth just as everyone starts showing up. I stay with Emmett until the first customers show up, then leave with Mabel to look at what everyone else is selling. It’s better for the business; the only thing that attracts more customers than Emmett just standing there looking pretty is Emmett standing there looking pretty with Mabie strapped to his chest. all the ladies imagine him as a heartbroken widower and ooh and ah over her. She needs to get a little worn out first, though. She carefully looks at the items displayed in every booth and when she gets bored, she moves on to the next one. I absentmindedly rub some cloth between my fingers; she’s gonna need a new dress soon and Emmett could use a new shirt for the summer. They would look cute, matching. I buy a few yards of the fabric; a nice, pale, cornflower blue linen and hurry to catch up with Mabel a few booths down. I also buy some ribbons at another booth to use when I do Mabel’s hair; Alta promised to teach me to braid it.   
Eventually Mabie tires herself out and we go back to Emmett’s booth. I sit in the chair beside him and Mabel falls asleep splayed out over my chest. We watch the people walking past; sometimes they recognize Emmett and smile at him, saying something about the good old days. Sometimes they even look at me with someone akin to recognition and I can almost hear them go “Oh, the Darnay brat? Is he still around?” inside their heads.   
“Emmett?!” A shrill female voice cuts through the air. We both turn to look in the direction it’s coming from.  
“Perannon?” Emmett manages finally as the figure comes closer to us.   
Oh. It hits me then that I never actually _saw_ her. I bite my cheek trying not to smile, and Emmett kicks me in the shin under the table. It does not help.   
She looks… I don’t know. She has her blonde hair in an elaborate updo, and evidently put her best skirt on for the occasion, but the child she drags behind her is dirty. I almost have half a mind to start looking for ways it resembles my uncle but I stop myself; I don’t want to know.   
“Oh, is this young lord Darnay?” She asks, looking at me, in an almost mocking voice. “Still hanging around this little town?”  
I nod. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot... about you.” I don’t know how I manage to say that without laughing, but I try to make my smile look sweet instead of conspiring. “I apologize for not greeting you properly...” I add, gesturing to Mabel still fast asleep on me.   
“Don’t worry about it.” She replies, casting curious glances between me and Emmett. A small silence ensues. “How’s your uncle, mister Darnay?”   
I swallow down another urge to laugh. “Haven’t heard from him in a while, actually. I do hope he’s well. I sure wonder if he still has pesky poachers to take care of.” I say as innocently as I can.   
She furrows her brows and looks at me weirdly before suddenly paling.   
“Oh. Oh! Well, I really should get going. It was wonderful making your acquaintance. Emmett, you should come over for tea sometime!” She calls over her shoulder, hurrying away from us.   
Emmett bursts out laughing as soon as she’s out of earshot.   
“Shit, Darnay, have mercy.” He chortles out before hiding his head in his hands and laughing silently.   
“You should come over for tea sometime, Emmett.” I parrot when he calms down. “The audacity! I’m right here.”  
He grins at me and gives my thigh a quick squeeze; it’s the best we can do out here. I’m not sure how it’s possible that the villagers haven’t stoned us to death yet. Then again, Emmett makes sure to buy his supplies from the village first, only going to Castleford and the other towns if they don’t have what he needs. He’s single handedly redirecting money from the city to the countryside; he’s the reason they have all been prospering recently. I guess that makes people shut up. Besides, he’s still handsome, and everyone knows he’s capable, so women flock to him even if they know of, well, me.  
When Mabel stirs we put her in the harness and attach her to Emmett’s chest. She’s getting a little big for it; a little heavy too, but Emmett doesn’t complain. He waves me off and I fuck off to look at more stalls, leaving him to exercise his flirting skills on starry-eyed ladies, completely unaware of the fact that they’re very much only buying his work, not a chance for a future with him.   
I pass the Farmers, Alta walking behind them, arms linked with Henry. We exchange a deadly-serious nod, a glint of mirth shining in her eyes, and go on in opposite directions. Mr Farmer pretends I don’t exist, as usual when we happen to see him, and Mrs Farmer gets stuck somewhere between wanting to wave to me and being too scared of her husband to do so. Henry glances at me kindly; he’s a good chap, from what I’ve gathered. Just an honest, hard-working man from the neighboring village; not much more, not much less. He bought Alta her ruby ring and she looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.   
I buy some more fabrics to sew clothes for Mabel out of, because why the hell not, and then get some food for us all. I also buy a bottle of flowery mead; it’s good to have around. Emmett eyes me suspiciously when he sees it, but I just shrug. I’ve got no taste for that sort of stuff anymore; a glass or two of dandelion wine once every few months is more than enough for me nowadays. I don’t have any demons to drown anymore. The sun is almost setting now, only the last latecomers dwindling through the rows of stalls. Mabel is starting to get bored, so we decide to leave a little early.   
I sigh with relief once we walk through the door. We let Mabie sleep a little too long, so she’s running off her excess energy outside, barefoot. Her excited shrieks can be heard through the open door and golden sunlight is flooding the house. Emmett pulls me close and I lean back into him as he rests his chin on my head.   
A few years ago, a couple half-conversations with people I barely know wouldn’t have even begun to scratch the itch I felt for human contact. Now, I’m gonna need several days before I want to talk to anyone other than Emmett again. We’ve really mellowed out with age, I realize suddenly. Not that we’re starting to get old; not quite yet. But we are both calmer and happier. Everything feels more secure. We don’t get each other as riled up anymore, which I sometimes miss a little; or rather, I miss what pissing Emmett off usually led to, back in the day. I definitely don’t miss the jealousy; I used to be so scared that Emmett would change his mind about me, realize what an asshole I had been, and run off with a girl his parents would have approved of. But he never did. He saw right through me; he always did. He realized it was a defense mechanism way before I did, and forgave me every time I got pissed at him for looking at a girl too long, when he had just been thinking about how hideous her dress was. We had to learn not to step on each other's toes quickly, or we would have strangled each other during those months before we came to the bindery. I still can’t quite look back at that time fondly.   
Now, though, now everything is good. There’s still a little bit of fear in the back of my head, half a thought always making me unwilling to lose sight of Emmett and Mabel. I think it would kill me if something happened to either of them because of me. I’ve been happier in these past few months since Mabel came to us than I ever dared to be before, I think. I feel like a different person and I can’t help but feel sorry for myself all those years ago on Lord Latworthy’s lawn, thinking I could never be as happy as I was during that summer again.   
Emmett’s been rubbing little circles into my hip with his thumb. It’s nice and reminds me that it’s been a while since we did anything more than cuddle before going to sleep. I would obviously never do anything like that with Mabel in the room, so we’ve been having to do our best in between her naps. It reminds me a bit of hiding around the ruins with him, sneaking touches and kisses everytime we were alone. I push my hips back into his and his embrace tightens around me. I turn around and give him a kiss, and of course that’s exactly when Mabie runs in from the outside, leaving muddy footprints everywhere. Emmett smiles and sweeps her up, making her scream with laughter. He waves her around for a bit and when he straightens her up again, she plants a big, wet kiss on his face.   
My cheeks hurt from smiling and I feel all warm inside. This has to be about as good as it gets, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The image of Emmett with a baby on his chest is what kickstarted this entire fanfic ashfksdk)  
> I might write more for this; I have ideas for about 3 more chapters but the motivation to write has left me for now 


End file.
